7. SCENE VII. The French camp, near Agincourt.
[Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Rambures,
Orleans, Dauphin, with others.]
Tut! I have the best armour of the world.
Would it were day!
You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due.
It is the best horse of Europe.
Will it never be morning?
My Lord of Orleans, and my Lord High Constable, you talk of
horse and armour?
You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world.
What a long night is this! I will not change my horse with
any that treads but on four pasterns. Ca, ha! he bounds from the
earth, as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the
Pegasus, chez les narines de feu! When I bestride him, I soar, I
am a hawk. he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it;
the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
He's of the colour of the nutmeg.
And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus. He is
pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never
appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts
him. He is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.
Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.
It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a
monarch, and his countenance enforces homage.
No more, cousin.